Forgotten, not Forgiven
by rooty-boots
Summary: How will the Pevensies react when Susan is brutally attacked? London is not Narnia and there are no swords, no shields and nothing to help them through except their love for one another. Disclaimer: You all know I don't own these characters, so don't sue
1. Chapter 1

It was one 'o' clock in the morning. Peter sat hunched in his father's armchair, stonily regarding the clock on the mantelpiece as the minutes ticked slowly, excruciatingly by.

From the kitchen, he could hear the odd clink of spoon against china, and the soft thud of a drawer as it closed. Edmund was making them both a cup of tea in the hope that it would help prop their eyes open a little longer. They had sent Lucy up to bed two hours ago, as she had barely been able to keep her eyes open. Of course, she had protested, but Edmund had coaxed her upstairs with the assurance that they would wake her up when Susan came in – something that Peter had no intention of doing, but he admired his brother's diplomacy.

This was the third night since their parents had gone away that Susan had come home late, but she had never been out past midnight before. With his parents away in America on yet another conference tour, Peter was left with the unfamiliar feeling of being out of his depth. It wasn't that he was unused to or unprepared for the responsibility of looking after his siblings, and at nineteen he was certainly old enough. Lucy and Edmund were no bother at all. But he still felt somewhat unsure of himself. Susan, for all her youthful gaiety, could not be faulted when it came to pulling her weight. She had taken over the running of the house admirably, going about her mother's daily routine with the calm gracefulness with which she approached everything.

Indeed, just a few hours earlier she had cooked their evening meal, before presiding over the dinner table with maternal efficiency. She had made sure that Peter, in his father's stead, had received the best of everything, scolded Edmund for his disgraceful table manners, and cajoled Lucy into eating at least a _mouthful_ of her cabbage. After dinner, she had done the washing up, and chatted cheerfully to her younger brother as Edmund dried and put away. She had tenderly enquired how Peter was bearing up under his ever increasing university work-load, and had listened attentively to Lucy's innocent chatter about her class-mates, and the latest story she was writing.

But then, at seven 'o' clock, Susan had gone quietly upstairs and returned twenty minutes in a new dress – a simple blue shift with buttons all down the front, which skimmed her slim frame. Her dark hair was held back by two tortoiseshell combs.

"Don't go out this evening Susan," Peter had said, standing at the bottom of the stairs as if he had been waiting for her.

She smiled pleasantly, "I've got to go. I promised I would." Her eyes twinkled, but her expression was firm.

She patted Peter's arm as she passed him to head into the kitchen, her low heels clicking resolutely on the linoleum.

"Edmund, would you help me with my lines?" she called. "You're the only one that can do them straight."

Her younger brother was now sat at the kitchen table, his homework books spread out in front of him. Lucy, being two years younger didn't have as much school-work to bring home, and had finished hers already. She was sat on the hearth-rug staring into the flames. Peter joined his little sister in the living room and sat down heavily in an armchair. He sighed.

"Hi, Lu," he said softly, giving her a tight little smile. She looked up, crossed her eyes and waggled her eyebrows at him in greeting. He could always count on Lucy to lighten the mood. From the kitchen, they heard Susan's exasperated reproach:

"Oh Edmund, you're supposed to be doing your algebra, not doodling all over your exercise book! You'll end up getting lines again if you're not careful. What's that you've drawn, anyway?"

"It's a centaur, Susan," Edmund sounded both amused and a little sad. "Why, is it so bad you can't tell?"

"Oh yes, I can see it is now," Susan agreed absently. "It's beautiful darling. Now are you going to help me with my lines or not, Mr Picasso?"

Edmund groaned, "Do I have to? Why can't you just wear knee-socks instead?"

"Because I'll look like a kid, that's why! You wally Ed, you haven't got a clue!" Susan laughed affectionately. "Come on Eddy," she coaxed, "Give me a hand. I'll love you forever."

Peter heard Edmund sigh, theatrically, and the scrape of a chair being pushed back. "Oh all right, if I must. But you look ridiculous if you ask me."

"Hence why I never ask you! Come into the living room, it's brighter in there. Don't want you straining your eyes."

As the two entered the room, Peter put down the book he was attempting to read. Lucy, who was in the middle of pulling off her long knee-socks, looked up and met Peter's eye. She stuck out her tongue cheekily, but for once he didn't pull a face back at her.

"Make sure you get them straight," Susan said, handing Edmund the pen.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Edmund groaned, crouching down on the floor beside his older sister. Susan stood as still as if she had been turned to stone, while Edmund, his tongue poking through his teeth in concentration, drew a long, straight line from her heel to the back of her knee, first one leg, then the other. Occasionally, he veered slightly off course, and had to lick his thumb and rub out the offending kink.

"Can't you go up a bit higher, Ed? When I twirl, you'll be able to see where the lines stop. I nearly got rumbled last Saturday."

Edmund's eyes widened in horror, "If you want them any higher, you can do them yourself!" he protested. Susan flushed dully and gave an awkward little laugh. Peter coughed.

"All right, keep your hair on. I was only asking."

Within five minutes, the illusion was complete. If you didn't look too hard, it appeared that Susan was wearing a pair of oh-so desirable but currently unattainable nylon stockings. She smiled, having recovered her composure, and said in her best Scarlett O'Hara voice:

"Why, thank you Eddy. Ah do declare, you're a regular little angel." She ruffled her little brother's hair and went out into the hall to fetch her coat. Peter, unable to stop himself, rose from his chair and followed her, a sick, trickly feeling in his stomach.

She was stood in front of the oval shaped mirror now, putting the finishing touches to her toilette. Peter knew he couldn't afford to wait – a quick spritz of perfume, a final slick of lipstick and she'd be out the door.

"Susan," he began, "Where are you going tonight? You haven't told me." He tried to keep his voice light, to act like a normal, modern-day older brother, simply enquiring out of interest. His heart thumped. He didn't know why he felt so anxious.

"Haven't I?" She smiled serenely over her shoulder and returned to powdering her nose. "Oh, they're just having a little dance down at the hall. The G.I.'s have promised to show us how to jitterbug! Mrs Jenner wants all of us down there to make them feel welcome, you know."

"Who are you going with?" He asked, and it came out a little more sharply than he intended. She looked a little taken aback.

"Oh, just Kathleen and Margaret. Freda said she might come. I'm meeting them on the corner." A pause, and then:

"Why don't you come with me Pete? Come on. Edmund's old enough to look after Lucy for a few hours. You could do with a night out…"

"I don't dance," he said.

"Oh, Peter. You used to love to dance, I remember…" but then she stopped, shook her head slightly and returned her gaze to the mirror.

For a fleeting second, Peter wanted to snatch his sister up in his arms and twirl her round as he used to do… to make her remember who she was, who she had been. Instead, his arms hung limply at his sides, his fists clenched. With a pain in his heart, he recalled the many nights he had seen his sister dance, with countless partners, with Edmund, with him… her long black hair flying, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes laughing. But that was different. She had been older then.

"No thanks," he said feebly, "It's not really my scene. You go, and enjoy yourself."

"I will. But I wish you would come out with me sometime Peter. I'm sure you would have fun. And… I miss you, you know?"

I miss you too, he thought. I miss you all the time.

"We used to have such fun together." She smiled hopefully up at him.

Yes, we did. He felt a lump in his throat, but he didn't know why. He smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

Abruptly, she clicked her compact shut, snapping Peter out of his thoughts. "Gosh, look at the time. I'm going to be late, they'll be waiting for me." She popped her head round the living room door and called: "Bye kids, don't wait up!" kissed Peter on the cheek… and then she was gone, leaving nothing behind her but a hint of cheap perfume.

That had been almost five hours ago, and Susan still wasn't home.

At five past one, Edmund walked into the living room bearing a tray laden with two chipped mugs and a teapot.

"Tea's up," he said, trying to sound cheerful and biting back a yawn. He handed the blue cup to Peter who received it gratefully, and settled back into the chair. Edmund sat down on the floor before the fire. Lucy had left her socks lying on the hearth rug, and with a mischievous grin, Edmund rolled them into a ball and threw them at his brother. Peter gave a tired little chuckle, and threw them back – they bounced harmlessly off Edmund's head and rolled under the sofa.

The two boys sat in amicable silence for a few minutes, sipping at their steaming tea and fighting sleep. Eventually, Edmund broke the silence.

"Where do you think Su's got to? Do you think we should be worried?"

Peter was grateful to Ed for starting the inevitable conversation, but he didn't want to admit that he didn't know what to do, or how he should feel. Luckily, Edmund was rarely stuck for something to say.

"She ought to be back by now. She's never been out this late before. What is it tonight, one of those ghastly dances at the hall?" Peter nodded.

"Well that settles it then. That old bat Mrs Jenner never lets them go on past midnight. Maybe we should go and look for her."

Peter put down his mug and let out a long, juddering sigh. "One of us needs to stay with Lucy," he pointed out.

Edmund could see the strain in his brother's face. Years of experience had enabled the four siblings to see what the others were thinking at any given time. Ed could tell at a glance if Lucy was upset, or if Susan was hiding something she didn't want anyone to know she felt. Right now he could see that Peter was deeply disturbed. Without a word being said, Edmund knew his older brother was feeling worry, guilt and confusion – the first two emotions were not uncommon, but it was a very rare occurrence that Peter did not know what to do for the best.

"I'll go," Edmund decided. "You stay here with Lu. You look knackered. Finish your tea and I'll go find our wayward sister. Don't worry - I'm sure it's fine. She's probably just popped into Freda's house on the way home and forgotten the time… or something." He stood up and was in the hall getting his coat on before Peter could protest.

"I won't be long," he promised, and with that he opened the front door and headed out into the night.

Peter slumped back down into the armchair. He felt awful. He was supposed to be looking after everyone, but so far he hadn't done a very good job. On Tuesday, Lucy had come home from school in tears because some of the girls in her class had been teasing her about Narnia. He never could make Lucy understand that it probably wasn't a good idea to let people in on their secret. Now he had let his little brother go out into the night to look for Susan, when he really should have gone himself. And where was Susan? She had hardly been in one night this week, and even when she was she was completely impossible to pin down.

If it had been Edmund or Lucy, he would have known exactly what to do. But Susan was only a year younger than him. She had practically as much authority as Peter nowadays, and he wouldn't be able to manage without her, so how could he tell her what to do? And when you looked at it, she wasn't really doing anything wrong, was she? She was behaving exactly like a normal eighteen year old girl. But that was what was so maddening about it all – Susan _wasn't_ an ordinary girl. She was his sister, the beautiful Queen Susan the Gentle, Narnia's beloved monarch, a wise and noble ruler. Or at least, she had been.

Nowadays, she was simply Susan Pevensie, a pretty, sweet girl, kind, sensible, beloved by everyone… especially boys. Peter's jaw clenched at this thought. Back in Narnia, many noble lords had sought her hand, but Susan, secure in her position and in herself, had refused them all. Here in England, the girl his sister had become didn't seem to know what to do, or how to behave. She enjoyed the attention, and he could understand that… but damn it, she was _so _naïve. So trusting, always seeing the best in people… she didn't seem to realise that gallantry was dead everywhere but Narnia.

And here, Peter forced his mind to go blank. Worrying wouldn't help matters. He turned his attention to the fire and watched as the flames danced into images of satyrs and unicorns, cavorting in a fiery ballroom.

Twenty minutes later he was awakened from his reverie by the sound of the doorbell, a short burst and then a much longer one, that reverberated around the house. Feeling immediate panic, he hurtled towards the front door, wrenching it open to find Edmund on the doorstep, supporting Susan who was trailing at his side like a rag doll. Her head lolled on her shoulders, her once smooth hair was rough and tangled with leaves, and her neat blue dress was ripped and torn. Edmund stood frozen, clutching at his elder sister with a look of pure horror on his face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hope you enjoyed Chapter one. Here's chapter two, please let me know what you think – I hope it's not too depressing, but you gotta love the angst. I don't own any of these characters, please don't sue. Enjoy!**

"Oh my God," Peter cried, as Edmund lost his grip and Susan pitched forward into his arms. He looked up aghast at Edmund, who had tears rolling down his cheeks, and a deep gash in his lip. Peter felt the blood drain from his face. Then suddenly Edmund too flew forwards and was in Peter's arms, almost knocking the three of them over.

"Hey, hey…" Peter said, patting Edmund on the back, and making shushing sounds. Susan sagged heavily from his left arm, her hair hanging down obscuring her features. Peter, regaining himself quickly, took charge.

"Come on Edmund, help me with Susan. You're alright." Sniffing, Edmund straightened up, nodded and then bent down to lift Susan's legs. She had lost a shoe, and her bare foot was bleeding. Peter took the weight of her upper half, and together the two brothers managed to carry Susan into the living room, where they lay her on the couch. Peter kneeled down beside her head, and Edmund collapsed onto the sofa with his sister's legs over his lap. He started sobbing.

A small figure appeared in the doorway. "What's going on?" asked Lucy, her voice high-pitched with fright. "What's wrong with Susan?" Quickly, she observed the situation and darted across the room.

"Lucy, go back upstairs," Peter commanded, trying to shield Susan from view with his body.

"No," said Lucy simply, as she drew close to the sofa where her sister lay. Upon glimpsing Susan's prone figure, she gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth.

"Lucy!" Peter cried, pushing her away. "Edmund, get her out of here!" But Edmund was bent double over Susan's legs, shaking violently as moans and sobs escaped his lips. Peter stood up and grasped Lucy by the shoulders.

"Lu, I need you to take Edmund into the kitchen and make him some hot tea with lots of sugar in it, alright? He's had a nasty shock by the looks of it." Lucy gulped, and nodded. She moved towards Edmund and touched his hand – he clutched her palm feverishly in his fist and continued to sob.

Peter thought for a second and added, "And Lu, there's a bottle of brandy in the cabinet by the sink. Put a little bit of that in it too, okay?" She looked at Peter with wide eyes, but nodded again.

"Come on Ed," she said gently. When he didn't move, she said, more forcefully – "Edmund, come on. Come with me."

Slowly, painfully Edmund lifted Susan's legs and rose to his feet. His head sagged, and his feet seemed too heavy for him, but he followed Lucy obediently into the kitchen.

Once his youngest siblings had left the room, Peter surveyed the damage. Susan was deathly pale, and there was a deep purple bruise blossoming at her temple. Her face was streaked with tears and mascara, her lipstick was rubbed off and her chin was red and sore-looking. Her expression, even in sleep, was troubled.

The pretty china blue dress was ripped at the collar, exposing her under-slip, which was also torn. Peter gritted his teeth and felt rage welling up behind his eyes. His sisters legs were splashed with mud, and her immaculate stocking lines, so painstakingly drawn on not six hours earlier, were streaked and smudged. There was a thin trail of brownish-red blood on her skirt, and trickling down her right leg. Her knees were grazed and her unshod left foot was black and bleeding.

"Susan," he whispered, shaking her gently. "Susan, wake up. It's Peter." Her eyes fluttered, and a look of pain shot across her face. She moaned and moved fretfully.

"Susan!" Peter hissed, and tapped her sharply on the cheek several times. "Susan!"

Susan awoke, and within a split second her brother wished he had left her unconscious. Her eyes flew open in panic and as soon as they focused on Peter, her face crumpled and she began to cry, a low, despairing, gulping sob that tore at his heart.

The only thing Peter could do was reach for her and hold her in his arms until her weeping subsided. She smelled of sweet wine and cheap perfume and…something else. Susan clutched at him and he could feel hot tears soaking the back of his neck. He shushed her, the way he used to shush Lucy when she was little and had had a bad dream, and wished with all his might that things were as simple as they had been then, that he could make her fear and pain go away the way he had when they were little.

After a little while, Peter said softly, with a little choke in his voice: "Su… what happened? Who did this to you?" He gently tried to push her away so that he could look at her face, but she simply started to cry harder and clutched at him fiercely. She did not want to look into his eyes; she felt she would never be able to look him in the face again.

"Hey, hey, hey…" Peter repeated this nonsense over and over again, and after a time, Susan's grip loosened, her body went limp and her breathing quietened down to become slow and regular. She was asleep. Peter gently lowered his sister to the pillow of the sofa and stood up. His hands clenched and unclenched impotently, angry tears sprang to his eyes; he wanted to strike out and hit something – somebody - but he had to restrain himself for fear of waking Su up again. If he could help it, he would not let her awaken until the morning. Everything would seem better then.

Composing himself, Peter headed for the kitchen where he found Lucy, looking white and frightened, with her arm around Edmund's neck. Edmund himself looked a little better; the mug of tea was empty save for the dregs, and Edmund's eyes looked a little unfocused, but he had stopped crying. Peter noticed for the first time that Ed's lip was split. It was half past two in the morning.

"How's Susan?" Lucy asked, her eyes wide.

"I think she's alright," Peter lied, and tried to smile at his little sister, who was not so little anymore. "She's sleeping now." Knowing that Lucy was always better if she had something to do, he added: "Can you go in and sit with her? I don't want her to be alone." Lucy nodded, and slid off her chair. As she passed him, Peter clasped her in a tight embrace. She was the only one of his siblings who had not yet suffered because he hadn't been there to save them. If he could help it, he would make sure that Lucy at least escaped the pain and fear that Edmund - and now Susan - had had to endure.

Lucy smiled up at Peter with teary eyes, and left the room to go and sit beside her sleeping sister. It was not often that she got to look after Susan, but she knew she wouldn't fail. She wasn't called "The Valiant" for nothing.

Peter turned his attention to Edmund now, and sat on the chair that his sister had vacated. Glancing round the kitchen, and could see hints of Susan everywhere, in the neatly folded towels, in the brightly coloured tea-cosy Susan had crocheted their mother for Christmas, to the gleaming plates on the draining board that his sister had carefully washed, only a few hours previously. He let out a long, drawn-out sigh and inclined his head towards his little brother, now so quiet beside him

"So tell me," he said gently. "What happened?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Oooh, I'm updating like a fan possessed! But when the muse hits, you've got to go with it. Disclaimer – I don't own, please don't sue! Please do R&R.**

Painfully, slowly, as if each word was being wrenched from his lips, Edmund began to speak.

"I found her about halfway up to the hall," he said. "I cut across the Rec., and there she was… but she wasn't on her own."

Peter nodded grimly and urged his brother to "Go on."

"There was a man there with her. And he was… he was…" Edmund's face collapsed and for a brief second his resemblance to Susan was so strong as to be heartbreaking. Peter reached for Edmund and pulled him into a fierce hug. Edmund spoke into his brother's shoulder; the words came out muffled but Peter could understand both the words and the sentiment.

"Don't make me say it. Please Peter… I can't."

Edmund trembled, and he felt Peter nod. Relief flooded his body, like a drop of a cordial made of fire-berries from the mountains of the sun. But the feeling was short lived.

"Just tell me one thing," Peter said, as he straightened up and separated from the embrace. Edmund looked up at him fearfully as if expecting a blow to come.

"Was she…" Peter didn't know quite how to phrase the question that was screaming in his mind. Whichever way you looked at it, it sounded pretty awful. He cleared his throat, and managed to choke out the rest of the question: "Do you think she… encouraged it in any way?"

Edmund shook his head violently, indignantly. "No!" he cried, breathing heavily, glaring at his brother. "By the time I got to her, she had passed out, but it looked like she had put up a hell of a fight. I know what you're thinking, but even if she's not a Queen anymore, Susan would never allow herself so be so dishonoured without a struggle. You know that!"

Peter nodded. He did know, and his face cleared a little. But it darkened again as he said:

"What happened next? What did you do?"

"What do you think I did? I pulled him off her and laid into him… I pounded him. But I tell you now Peter, if I had had my sword…" and Edmund tailed off, frustration emanating from his whole being.

Yet there was a tiny beam of gladness in Peter's heart that his brother had not been so armed. King Edmund was gone, and sixteen year old Edmund Pevensie could not mete out justice in this world as he had in the other. Peter knew in the deep recesses of his heart that had his brother had a weapon in his grasp when he had faced down their sister's attacker, his family would now be facing a problem even graver than their current situation.

"You got him then?" he enquired, with grim satisfaction.

"I got a few good swings in after I yanked him off." Edmund gave Peter a tight little smile. "But in the end he whacked me in the face with his pistol and took off running. I couldn't chase him… I couldn't leave Susan."

"You did the right thing..." Peter approved. "Wait. What? He had a gun?"

"They all do, don't they? They get given them when they join up."

"He was a soldier?" Edmund nodded, and his brother couldn't believe what he was being told. Soldiers were supposed to be noble. Gallant… Peter's head reeled. Then a thought occurred to him.

"Who was it? Did you recognise the bastard?"

"No, I'd never seen him before."

"English or American?"

"I don't know Pete. It was dark… I was scared. I didn't really see much."

"Would you recognise him again if you saw him?" Peter asked, gripping the kitchen table.

"I'm not sure… Maybe. Whoever he was he'll have a fair few bruises on his ugly mug by now. That might help us pick him out."

"Well if he was a soldier, he'll have had to report back to his base this evening. Perhaps we should…"

"Don't even think about it," Lucy stood in the doorway, regarding her brothers with an expression of disapproval so severe she might have been Susan herself.

"Lucy!" Edmund protested, "She's our sister, we can't just sit here…"

"We can," she interrupted firmly, "and we must. This isn't Narnia. If you go out looking for that man, you'll come home beaten to a pulp or worse. You could end up in jail! Besides, Susan doesn't want you to."

"How do you know?" Peter asked, with uncharacteristic irritation at his sister flickering behind his eyes.

"She told me so, just now. She asked me to come in here and stop you two doing anything stupid."

"Susan," said Peter, pushing past Lucy and moving swiftly into the sitting room, his brother and sister following close behind.

He found his sister awake again, curled up in the farthest corner of the sofa. As her siblings entered the room Susan visibly shrank back and turned her head away. Peter sat gingerly down beside her, and laid a heavy hand on her arm. He could feel his sister trembling.

"Susan, sweetheart…" he began, "We need to find the man who did this." She was made of stone, of ice.

"No," she growled, "I don't want anybody to know. I just want to forget it ever happened." Her head hung limply on her neck and her hair fell down around her face, concealing it from view.

Peter bit back his tears and looked desperately around the room. He didn't know what to do. Edmund was standing awkwardly above them, looking down at his sister with anxious eyes. But Lucy moved forwards and dropped to her knees at Susan's feet. She gently took her sister's hands in her own and brushed a wing of tangled hair back from Susan's face.

"Do you want to go upstairs, Su? You could have a bath if you liked. I'll stay with you."

After a long pause, Susan nodded. "Yes, please," she said, sounding like a tired child. And so it was that fourteen year old Lucy Pevensie helped her elder sister to her feet and led her upstairs. In a minute or two, the sound of running water cascaded down the stairs.

The two boys stood regarding one another as the seconds ticked by. They were both breathing hard; each sought to manage himself but both remained poised to step in should the other lose his personal battle for control.

Finally, Peter spoke, words that he had spoken before and never forgotten.

"I'm going to _kill_ him."

Edmund nodded - his face expressionless and cold. There was nothing to say, nothing he could do, except fall back on his mother's answer to all ills.

"I'll make us some tea, shall I?"


	4. Chapter 4

**First of all, thanks to all of you who reviewed! You're all brilliant and I hope I've remembered to reply to each any every one of you to thank you personally for your lovely comments. Okay, I feel I should warn you that parts of the next chapter are a little stomach turning. I have to say I felt a bit queasy as I was writing it, but you should be okay as long as you're not extremely squeamish. Hope it's not too awful, feel free to let me know if you think I'm a sicko. Please, please review, this is my first fan-fic and I need to know what you all think! As always, don't own, so don't sue. Hugs x **

Forty minutes later, Lucy returned.

"She's asleep, finally." For a few seconds she stood; a forlorn little figure in the doorway; then for the third time that evening Peter was forced to watch the face of one of his siblings crumble into despair.

"Come here," he whispered, his own voice cracking at the sight of his little sister in tears. She ran into his open arms and held on tight, sobbing as if her heard would break. Edmund scooted across the floor towards them and grabbed his sister's hand. After a time, she sniffled and grew quiet.

"She's in a bad way," Lucy hiccupped. "She's covered in bruises and there were… bite marks. There was blood in the water."

Edmund gasped, and his voice was squeaking as he said: "Do you think we need to call a doctor?" In Susan's absence, it was often Ed who took the rational, practical stance. In that moment, he felt grateful that he did not have to take that role often.

"I don't know," Peter said truthfully, stroking Lucy's hair. "I don't know if I want to put her through that – not right now at any rate."

"She said she would die if anyone found out what happened," Lucy put in softly, standing up.

Peter gave a low groan and covered his face with his hand. He drew in a deep breath and slowly released it, trying to quell the tears that were threatening to spill. After a long pause, he brought his hands together and moved to stand.

"Right," he decided. "For now at least, we won't do anything, just let her sleep. We'll wait until the morning and decide what to do then. I'll sit up with her tonight. You two need your rest."

"I want to stay with her," said Lucy, quickly followed by Edmund's determined: "Me too."

Peter had expected this, and although the King in him wanted to enforce his command and take the weight of responsibility from his young siblings' shoulders, the part that was just Peter Pevensie was glad and not a little grateful for their support.

"Alright," he acquiesced. "Come on."

Some hours later, as dawn was approaching, Susan awoke in the dim light of her bedroom to find her siblings clustered close by. Lucy lay next to her on the bed, thin arms hugging Susan's shoulders and her face nestled into her elder sister's neck. Edmund lay in a foetal position at their feet, his arms ups shielding his face from view. Peter had drawn the armchair up close to the bed and was slumped forwards, holding Susan's hand softly in his.

For a moment, she looked about the room in confusion. She gagged and tried to sit up, but was thwarted by a sharp, unfamiliar pain in her abdomen. In an instant, she knew she was going to vomit.

Pushing Lucy aside, Susan shook her hand from Peter's grasp, leapt over Edmund and raced towards the bathroom. Strangled cries of alarm followed her out onto the landing. She almost made it, but not quite and was violently sick on the tiled floor. Knowing her brothers were only a few paces behind her she slammed the door and fumbled with the lock. She didn't want anybody to see her like this.

Blood thumped painfully in her temples as she retched repeatedly. Bitter fluid collected at the back of her throat and she heaved again and again until she was empty.

"Susan?" Peter was outside the door now, hammering on the wood and rattling the handle. "Su, let me in. Are you alright? Susan!"

She couldn't answer him, nor did she want to. Her head was pounding and her stomach swooped and plunged as if she was adrift on a restless sea. Weakly, she lowered herself to the floor, trying to avoid the spatters of vomit and bile. The acrid smell of it reached her nostrils and she convulsed into retching once more. Susan had never felt so weak, nor so alone.

"Susan? Please Su, open the door." Peter was weeping now; she could hear the catch in his voice, and it frightened her more than she could bear.

"I'm fine," she gagged. "Leave me alone a minute… just give me a minute."

A clammy wave of nausea and perspiration washed over her and searing tears sprang to her eyes. She grabbed at the roll of toilet paper, tore off a length and began mopping desperately at the mess on the bathroom tiles. Susan wasn't usually squeamish – she had lost count of the times she had nursed her siblings when they were sick – but somehow, the sight of her own vomit made her feel as if she was going to faint.

She cleaned up the floor as best she could and flushed the sodden tissue paper away. Using the basin as support, Susan rose and shakily threw the bathroom window open; cool, clean, forgiving air flooded the room and went some way towards clearing her head. Then a deep, powerful, dragging sensation in her abdomen forced her down again.

Trembling violently, she lowered the lid of the toilet and sat down upon it, leaning her hot forehead against the cool, damp bathroom wall. She had to _think._

Fifteen minutes later, Susan had not emerged. She wasn't making a sound now and it had become more than Edmund could bear. Peter was hunched up on the floor opposite the bathroom door, a look of pure misery on his face. Lucy sat a few yards away at the top of the stairs, her slender arms wrapped around the balustrade, her mind tangled in too many thoughts, none of them pleasant.

"Enough of this," Edmund decided. If he knew his sister, she would only respond to a no-nonsense approach. He strode along the corridor and rapped his knuckles against the bathroom door.

"Susan? It's Edmund. Are you coming out?" There was no response; perhaps the suggestion of a whimper, but no more.

"Right," Edmund called, "Then I'm coming in." He rattled the handle, but to no avail. Then without a word, he turned on his heel and went into the bedroom he shared with Peter, returning moments later with a screwdriver from the tool-set he had received for Christmas.

Peter looked up at his brother with a bemused expression that Edmund would no doubt have found highly amusing had he not felt like he would never smile again.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked.

"Taking the door off. Give me a hand."

Grimly, Edmund began unscrewing the hinges of the bathroom door; he managed the lower set with ease but passed the tool over to Peter, who was taller, to undo the top three screws.

Within minutes, the job was done. Together, the two brothers prepared to lift the heavy door from its hole in the wall. Lucy stood up now, and steeled herself to enter the room first. She vowed that she would not let her brothers into the bathroom unless Susan was decent. Her sister had suffered enough humiliation in the past few hours.

Leaning the door against the opposite wall, the boys instinctively stepped back to let Lucy pass, averting their eyes partly from respect, partly from fear; but her anguished cry and sudden movement forced them to look round.

"Susan!" Peter dashed forwards, then with sudden icy logic turned away from the horror before him, gripped Edmund's arm and shoved him back towards the door.

"Ed, get a doctor! Quick!"

And without a word, Edmund turned and ran as if the wolves of Jadis were snapping at his heels.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hope I didn't make you feel too ill with that last one. I've come up with a method to divide the scenes up a bit better, hope that helps when reading. Again, there are a few gross scenes, but nothing you can't handle if you're age-appropriate. Please keep the reviews coming, you've all been so nice and I'm a flattery-whore! As always, me no own, you no sue. **

Susan was sprawled on the floor of the bathroom next to the lavatory, her face a deathly white and her face scrunched up in pain. She had fainted. The room smelled sharply of bile, but far worse was the patch of dark blood which was slowly seeping through Susan's nightdress.

Frantically, Lucy tore off a length of tissue paper from the roll and with no trace of embarrassment pressed the wad between her sister's legs, hoping to staunch the bleeding.

Peter collapsed to his knees beside them: "Su! Wake up! Can you hear me? Wake up, damn you!" and hating himself, he smacked his sister sharply across the cheek.

Her eyes fluttered but she was not awake; she moved fitfully and moaned in her unnatural sleep. Lucy laid a sweaty, bloodied hand on Susan's forehead – her sister was burning up. Peter and Lucy exchanged frightened glances, but not a word passed between them. There was nothing they could do now but wait and pray.

Susan fidgeted, and a sound escaped her lips. It could have been delirious nonsense, but it sounded to Peter and Lucy like: "Aslan."

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Edmund sprinted down the deserted street, not really knowing where he was going but unable to stop. It was just starting to get light. His heart pounded fearfully in his chest as he rounded the corner and skidded to a halt at the recreation ground.

In the thin, pale light of the dawn he could dimly make out the swings, the slide, the climbing frame… and then beyond that, the dark patch of scrubby bushes and low trees where he had discovered his sister the night before.

Scrunching his eyes shut, Edmund tried in vain to banish the ugly pictures that sprang into his head, but before he could prevent it, tears were spilling down his cheeks. The rage seemed unendurable, but he knew that his suffering was utterly insignificant when compared to the torment that Susan was facing. Susan. What was he doing? He had to find help.

And help came. A low voice, warm and full of love entered his mind and dried his tears:

"Courage, Son of Adam. Courage… and a cool head. Think clearly now. I am never far away."

And Edmund knew at once where he had to go.

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Doctor Steadman lived two streets away from the Pevensies. Edmund knew of him because the physician was a member of his father's club, and he knew exactly where he lived because Susan had often admired the house as she passed.

"I should so love to live in a house like that, Ed," she had sighed, one summer evening, six months ago. "Maybe I'll marry a rich doctor one day, who knows?"

He had been walking her home from her dance class, as the sun was setting over the roofs of the tall brick houses. She had laughed then, and shook her head squeezing his arm. He had laughed too.

Now, as he stood in front of the house his sister had so coveted, Edmund had to admit – it was an attractive building, tall and gracious. The door was painted black, and the knocker was in the shape of a lion's head. As he took hold of the brass ring, a shaft of early morning sunlight peeped through the clouds making the bright metallic face gleam.

Comforted, Edmund knocked vigorously and without pause until the door was wrenched open to reveal a dishevelled young woman in a starched apron and cap.

"Who are you? What do you need?" she questioned him abruptly, obviously not entirely unused to this type of visit.

"If you please Miss, I'm Edmund… My father is David Pevensie. I need to see the doctor straight away. Please, is he here? It's my sister…" Edmund implored.

"Of course he's here! Where else would he be at six 'o' clock in the morning? You wait there; I'll go and fetch him," and with that, the maid turned and hurried away.

Edmund stood in the hall and fidgeted nervously, looking all about him. It really _was _a nice house. He could imagine Susan living somewhere like this - She _should_ have a home this beautiful, one day - He just hoped he would get to see that day arrive. He soothed his nerves by trying to commit as much of his surroundings to memory as possible, promising himself that he would tell Susan all about the chequered marble floor and the elegant velvet curtains… once she was better.

A few moments later, Doctor Steadman came hurrying down the stairs. He looked a little unkempt, but he was the most wonderful sight to Edmund's swollen eyes. The maid followed close behind, carrying the doctor's bag and his overcoat, which she helped him efficiently into. Straightening his tie while simultaneously moving towards the front door, the doctor finally turned his attention to Edmund.

"Right-o son. Lead the way."

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"Peter! Lucy, he's here!"

Edmund fell through his own front door, closely followed by the physician, and hollered up the stairs. In an instant, Peter was standing at the top, looking slightly green.

"Thank you for coming, sir. Please hurry, she's in there."

Doctor Steadman took the stairs two at a time, with Edmund a step behind him. As he passed, Peter pointed the way, then grabbed his brother's arm and nodded his silent thanks. Both boys followed the older man along the landing to her bedroom where Susan now lay.

The doctor's practiced eye took in the situation in a moment. He nodded his greeting to Lucy and pushed her gently away from the bedside. Susan was conscious now, but not really aware. Her face was flushed, and she writhed a little in apparent pain – her eyes were glossy with tears. Little bundles of bloodied tissue paper lay on the bedside table and on the floor, but if the doctor was in any way shocked, he did not show it.

"Right, I see. Has the bleeding stopped?"

"Pretty much," Lucy whispered, and she looked down at herself, noticing as if for the first time the dark stains on her hands and dress.

"You've done well, young lady. Good instincts. Now clear everyone out of here please, I need to attend to your sister."

Reluctantly, the three Pevensies left the room, shutting the door softly behind them. As one, they headed for the room next door, which belonged to the two boys. Lucy sat down next to Peter on his bed; Edmund sat opposite them on his own divan.

For a moment, nobody spoke. Then all of a sudden, Peter had leapt up and was punching the wall, again and again.

"Peter, stop it!" Lucy shrieked, catching hold of his arm as it swung back in preparation for another blow. Immediately at his sister's touch he ceased fighting and went limp. His whole body sagged and his pressed his now bloodied hands to his eyes.

The pain in his fist helped somewhat to lessen the pain in his heart, but it seemed that nothing could block out the accusatory voice which was screaming in his head. Eventually he could contain it no longer, and the tears came flooding out as he wailed:

"This is all my fault!"


	6. Chapter 6

**This has been the hardest chapter to write so far – perhaps because there's a bit less drama to it – still lots of angst though! I've realised that this is turning out to be a really depressing fic, but I'm hoping that there are enough of you out there who appreciate this kind of thing to make it all worthwhile. Please keep reviewing - you don't know how happy it makes me when I get that little envelope in my inbox! Disclaimer: I don't own the Pevensies – if I did, they would have staged a slave rebellion and strung me up by my typing finger after everything I've been putting them through.**

"Peter, how can you say that? Just how is what happened to Susan your fault?" Edmund stood up and yelled at his elder brother; all the pent up emotion of the last few hours had finally overwhelmed him and he felt he had to lash out. "Why do you always have to blame yourself for everything? Believe it or not, you're not High King of the whole bloody world…"

Peter stood up too, fists clenched as he glared at Edmund. "This is down to me, Ed. I should've gone with her! She asked me to go, and I turned her down. If I had gone with Susan last night, this would never have happened! But no - I had to look down on her party, her friends… King Peter was just too damned _magnificent_ to lower himself for a night out with his sister…"

"Stop it!" Lucy hissed. She glanced from one brother to the other with righteous fury, her hands pressed over her ears. Sometimes she wished _she_ could just break down and shout and scream, but that was something she would never allow herself to do. At fourteen years old, the youngest Pevensie had come to recognise that the quiet strength of women would often endure long after the bright flame of male wrath had burnt itself out.

"Be quiet, both of you or I'll bang your heads together! Yelling at each other isn't going to help Susan. We have to wait now, and see what the doctor has to say. That's all we can do."

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Half an hour later, Doctor Steadman poked his head around the door; the three siblings were now clustered together on one bed, clutching at each others' hands and talking in low voices. As the door squeaked open, all looked up - Lucy with hope, her brothers with something more akin to alarm.

"You can go in to her now; I've given her something to help her sleep. She'll be out for a few hours, but I think she's going to be fine."

All three jumped up, and Lucy slid past the doctor with a sweet but shaky smile. Edmund followed, with a look on his face which can only be described as pure gratitude. Peter hung back until his brother and sister had left, then he spoke:

"What happened to my sister, sir? Why was she bleeding?"

"You tell me," the doctor replied. "How in God's name does a nice young lady like your sister end up with injuries like that?"

Peter hesitated, and bit his lip.

"You can tell me, son. You're quite safe." And somehow, Peter knew that he was.

"She was attacked on her way home from a party - I don't know any more, except that it was a soldier who did it. It was Edmund that found her. It should have been me… I should have gone with her – she asked me to… I should have…" and the tears threatened to fall again.

"Come now, there's no use crying over spilt milk. What's done is done; you cannot blame yourself for the actions of others. Sit down, and I'll tell you what I know of these matters. It may not be pleasant, but you're a brave young fellow, and I think you need to know the truth."

Peter allowed himself to drop backwards onto his mattress which creaked unsteadily beneath him. The doctor took a seat on Edmund's bed, regarded him gravely, and took a breath:

"Your sister… Susan, is it? Yes? Well now, Susan has been raped."

Peter flinched at the pronouncement of a word he had been avoiding since the moment Edmund had returned with their sister. Somehow, it made things real - to put a label on what had happened. "Yes, sir," he nodded, dully.

"Unfortunately, this is not the first time I have had to tend to wounds of this sort. You wouldn't believe how many cases I have seen which have been, in their essentials, just like this one. And the one thing I will say to you is that while the body may heal… and yes, your sister _will_ live to fight another day… the true scars are psychological. You are going to have to be very strong for Susan over the next few weeks and months."

Peter vowed that he would be. It was the one thing he knew he could guarantee.

"What do I do now?" he wanted to know, "Do I call the police? Do I write to my parents? They're in America…"

"I think you ought to let yourself be guided by your sister on that one, when she wakes up. Rape is a very personal assault; it forcibly takes away all the power a woman has over her own body. You must give Susan control over what she wants to do next."

Peter thought these words through and had to agree with what the doctor was saying; even though every fibre of his being was screaming to avenge his sister, to protect her, he knew that Susan, ever private, ever gentle, would not appreciate fuss or violence.

"But I will say this," the doctor continued. "In the many similar cases I have seen throughout the last twenty years, one thing has stood out, and that is the sad fact that a courageous woman who speaks out against her attacker is often blamed where she should be pitied… a great injustice, but the truth of it is undeniable. Therefore, if Susan does decide to follow this through and seek justice, you must be prepared for that. Even more importantly, you must prepare _her_ for that."

As the doctor finished speaking, Peter went numb. He realised abruptly that there really was no easy way out of this for his sister, for any of them; but he swore to himself that he wouldn't rest until he had guided Susan out of her prison of humiliation and despair. He looked helplessly up at the doctor, who gave him a grave smile, and took a roll of bandage out of his bag.

"Now, be a good chap and sit still a minute while I take care of those knuckles of yours."

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When the doctor had left, Peter joined his siblings in Susan's room. He sat down beside the bed and took her hand in his newly bandaged fingers. She was sleeping in apparent peace, but her skin had taken on an unhealthy, waxy look and her hands and feet were as icy cold as her face was hot.

Peter explained to Edmund and Lucy that the doctor had had to put in some stitches, and that he had given Susan a sedative to help her get some real rest. In addition, he had left some arnica ointment for the bruising and a little bottle of antiseptic with which Lucy was to bathe Susan's hurt foot once a day to prevent infection. Before he had left the house, Doctor Steadman had promised to return in a few days to check up on her.

Peter also related the doctor's advice on how to deal with their sister when she finally woke up:

"We need to act normal around her," he urged, "but let her know that she can talk to us. We need to show her that we love her, but we mustn't get upset in front of her, because you know Susan… she hates scenes. It'll only make her clam up."

Just how they were to traverse this precarious tightrope of emotions, Peter couldn't say, but they all knew that they had to try, for their sister's sake.

"Are we going to write to mum and dad?" Edmund wanted to know.

"That's up to Susan," Lucy took the words from Peter's lips, and he looked at his little sister in fond wonderment. As if in answer to the question he hadn't asked, Lucy shrugged and said:

"That's just how I would want it… if it had happened to me."

Even a suggestion of that notion was too much for her brothers to take: both Edmund and Peter visibly blanched.

"Let's all get some rest," Lucy pronounced, hurriedly. "Susan isn't going to wake up for hours, and we need to be there for her when she does."

Peter and Edmund were forced to agree, but they were all loath to leave the room. Eventually, it was decided that they would drag their mattresses in from their room and sleep on the floor. For once, nobody resented Susan's good fortune at having won the largest bedroom all those years ago when they had first moved to Finchley from Golders Green: now there was plenty of room for all.

Once this task was accomplished, Peter, Edmund and Lucy laid themselves down and within minutes, they were soundly asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**We're getting close to the end now, so I hope you won't be disappointed with the way it turns out. This chapter is a bit longer and lots fluffier than the last few – but since it's me, still angst-ridden! There should be lots for you PeterSusan freaks in there too – but no ruderies! Enjoy. (PS I don't own the Pevensies – Duh!) **

It was around one 'o' clock in the afternoon when Peter woke up, and for a moment or two he lay still, unsure of where he was. Then remembering, he sat up, and looked about the room. The curtains had been drawn, but he could make out Lucy and Edmund sleeping peacefully together under a thin quilt on Edmund's mattress, which was positioned at the end of Susan's bed.

From his spot on the floor, Peter could see nothing of his eldest sister except her injured left foot, which lay exposed but for a stark, white bandage. Levering himself up on the knuckles of his unhurt hand, Peter stood and moved towards the bed – he didn't know why, but it suddenly seemed very important that he tuck that foot in under the blankets. As he drew near, he tenderly scanned his sister's face and was stopped short: Susan was awake.

The blackout paper lay on the floor; Lucy had torn it down mere hours before to light Peter's way as he had carried a bleeding Susan to her bed. She lay quietly on her side, staring up at the pale square of window which shone through the thin drapes. As Peter moved towards his sister, her gaze shifted and came to rest upon his face, but the vacant expression remained unchanged, as if she were barely aware of him.

"Susan?" he murmured, kneeling down so that his face drew level with hers, and trying to smile. "Hey… how are you feeling?"

Susan closed her eyes, and for a brief moment Peter thought she was trying to feign sleep. Then her lips moved and she croaked:

"Tired… Sore."

Scrunching her eyes even more tightly shut, she attempted to shift herself into a sitting position, and in so doing was unable to conceal a slight hiss of pain. Gently, Peter took hold of his sister's uppermost arm and bore some of her weight, while reaching behind to rearrange the pillows

"Better?" he asked as he lowered her gently back onto them, and Susan nodded her thanks.

Peter took a seat on the edge of the bed and sat quietly trying to find some words of comfort, but none came readily to hand. Susan's eyes were downcast; her skin and hair seemed to have lost some of their lustre, and her brother felt a lump in his throat at the sight of his sister's vibrant beauty so veiled in suffering.

"Isn't there anything I can do, Susan?" he asked, searching her face. "Is there anything you need?"

Susan considered this a moment, then took a breath and said: "I want to have a bath."

Peter furrowed his brow, "Are you sure that's a good idea, what with the stitches and everything?"

"Please," she looked up at him with imploring eyes, and he knew he couldn't refuse her.

"Alright… I'm sure it couldn't do too much harm, as long as you're careful. I'll get Lucy up," and he moved to stand. Susan caught hold of his arm and murmured:

"No, don't… She looks so peaceful; I don't want to wake her. She's been so good to me, and so brave… I can wait."

Peter thought soberly for a moment then made a tentative suggestion:

"I could always help you…"

Susan looked up at him in surprise, and it hurt him to recognise a tiny glimmer of fear. He flushed, but battled bravely on:

"I mean… I don't mind, if you don't. I… I'd like to help you, Su."

Susan seemed to be unconvinced; she sat unmoving and cold for several long moments, but eventually it seemed her reluctance was overcome by her need to feel clean again.

"Alright. If you're sure you don't mind…"

"I've course I don't," he protested, feeling slightly more cheerful now that he had a clear objective. "Come on, let's get you up." Gently, Peter slid his arm around his sister and helped her to her feet. "I could carry you," he offered.

"No, it's alright, I can walk. I'm fine…"

Now it was Peter's turn to be doubtful, but he let it pass. Together, they hobbled out of the room and across the landing to the bathroom. Peter was suddenly assailed with the absurd recollection of a school sports day, many lifetimes ago, when the two eldest Pevensies had come first in the three-legged race; the innocent, faraway memory of it almost brought a smile to his lips. Sitting Susan carefully upon the closed lavatory seat, he knelt by the bath to put in the plug and turn on the taps.

"I want it to be really hot… can you just use the hot tap?" she requested, in a small voice.

"Alright, but you're not having any bubbles…" he countered, perfectly serious, but to his amazement, Susan gave a wheezy little giggle. His heart leapt at the sound, then plunged as his sister pressed a white hand to her stomach and winced.

"Does it hurt?" he cried, and made to move towards her.

"Only when I laugh," and she rewarded him with a rueful, sad-eyed smile.

Peter was prepared to disregard the War Effort, just for one day and only for Susan; he filled the bathtub almost to the top with steaming hot water. When it was full, he turned to his sister and asked, trying to keep his voice light:

"Now, how are we going to do this?"

"You turn around," she directed, and Peter did so. He stood facing the perspiring plaster of the bathroom wall, alert to the mysterious rustlings as Susan attempted to get undressed. After some moments, she gave a frustrated little grunt.

"What is it?" he asked anxiously, fighting the urge to spin round.

"It's no good… I can't get my nighty off. I can't get it over my head…" Even with his back turned, Peter could tell his sister was close to tears; Anything but that.

"Su, look… I'm going to have to turn round alright? But I promise I'll keep my eyes closed. We'll sort it out together, okay?"

"No, don't…" there was a note of panic in her voice.

"Look, Su… It's just me. I'm your brother, I'm not going to hurt you; you can trust me. Just calm down, will you?"

Before she could protest further, Peter squeezed his eyes shut and turned around. Feeling his way across the room, he moved forwards until he could sense Susan nearby then stuck out his hand.

"Where are you?" He felt a small, clammy palm touch his. "Right, now stay still," and Peter reached forwards in what he hoped was the right direction. His fingers grasped hold of a swathe of fabric, whereupon he gathered the folds together and pulled the nightdress smoothly upwards until it came away in his hand.

"Done?" he asked. There was no reply. "Susan? Are you ready to get in the water?"

"I'm nodding," came the sullen reply.

"Right, now you guide me towards the bath and I'll help you in."

Eventually, the torturous task was achieved and Peter, eyes still closed, fumbled his way to the end of the bath and sat down on the damp floor with his back to his sister. At last, he could open his eyes. It was chilly in the bathroom with the door off, and he made a mental note to get Edmund to help him re-hang it later on when Susan was asleep.

For five long minutes, the two siblings sat in silence; the only sound the soft drip of the tap and the gentle plish of the water as Susan washed. After a time, even these noises stopped:

"Are you ready to get out?" Peter called.

"Not yet." Susan wanted to stay in the bathtub forever. Though it made her wounds itch and her stitches burn, she felt as though the scalding water was both chastising and forgiving her weary body.

"Alright, well let me know if you need anything."

"I want to wash my hair. Can you get me my shampoo? I think it's by the sink."

Peter rose and moved the few paces towards the basin; locating the bottle, he unthinkingly glanced up at the mirrored medicine cabinet then promptly dropped the shampoo with a clatter. The room was a little steamy, but he could see well enough.

"Oh my god; Susan, you're a mess!" he yelped, unable to prevent himself. Turning round now, he gaped aghast at his sister's body, now blue with bruises. Peter could feel the tears crawling up behind his eyes, and blinked them fiercely away.

"Don't look at me!" she shrieked, and disregarding the pain, Susan reached an arm out of the bath to the rail and grabbed frantically at a towel. She flung it hastily over herself, not caring that it would get soaked.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to look…" Peter gabbled. "I didn't mean to… Oh, Su. I'm so sorry."

Now his sister's nudity was concealed from view he could approach her. Perceiving that she was shivering despite the radiating heat of the bathwater, Peter knelt down in a puddle and, shaking slightly himself, prised her hands gently from her face. She was crying, tears leaking silently down her cheeks.

"Oh Susan, sweetheart," he croaked miserably, holding her tightly clenched fists in his own. "I'm so, so sorry…"

"Don't…" she moaned, but he couldn't help it.

"I mean it, Susan; I really do. I'm sorry I wasn't there to protect you. I'm sorry I haven't been there for you for a long time…"

"Peter, please! Please, don't do this… don't blame yourself. I can't bear it. This isn't your fault! Why do you always have to…?"

"Whose fault is it then?" Peter demanded, angrily. Susan looked up at him with fearful eyes, her breathing jerky and spasmodic; she bit her lip, and whispered:

"If you must blame anyone, blame me. Everyone else will."

"What? What do you mean?" Peter was genuinely confused; his mind racing.

"You don't know the whole story, Pete… I was drinking, I was flirting… I let _that man_ kiss me! How stupid am I? How conceited? He said he was in love with me, and I _believed_ him!"

"But that doesn't mean…"

"It might as well! No-one will believe I wasn't asking for it, _no-one_! My reputation would be in tatters if anyone knew… which is why I need you to promise me that you're not going to tell anybody about this. Ever." Susan gripped Peter's hand in an iron fist. "Promise me."

Peter blinked back his tears and looked intently at his sister's streaked and puffy face.

"But Susan, we can't just let that monster get away with what he's done…"

"I know what you think, and I know you must despise me. Don't think it hasn't occurred to me that if he did this to me, he will probably do it again to some other poor fool… but I just can't face it, Peter. I can't, please don't ask me to. I'm not strong enough; I've never been brave, not like the rest of you..."

Peter had never wanted to scream more than he did in that moment; not since that terrible second that he had turned in battle to see his little brother fall.

"Don't you see, Peter? You, Edmund and Lucy… you're all so much more courageous than me. But, I've always been a coward… it's so much simpler for me to pretend it never happened!"

And in a moment of stony realisation, Peter knew that his sister wasn't just talking about the last few hours. He looked into Susan's eyes, now glossy with tears, and at last, he understood.

"God knows, I've tried all my life to be like you Peter," she was pleading with him to forgive her. "I've tried to be good, and strong, and noble, but the fact remains that when it comes down to it, there will always be an important difference between you and me: You will always choose what is right, but I know that I'm always going to opt for what is easy. I'm just too afraid…"

"Shh…" Peter soothed, and reached for his sister, wanting nothing more than to hold her in his arms. At his touch, she knew that he would always be strong enough for both of them.

"I know… I know. It's alright, Susan. I won't tell. I love you; I'm never going to leave you."

She sniffed and straightened up. "I love you too. I really do. All of you; you Edmund, Lucy..."

He smiled, a tearful little smile, and squeezed Susan's hand, then moved to stand up.

"Let me help you wash your hair," he said.


	8. Chapter 8

**I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update. I should say at the beginning: This next chapter is probably my weakest one so far, it's been so hard to write! It is almost a bridge between the end of one story and the beginning of another (yes, I have decided to keep going!) **

**It's kind of a bitty chapter, but another will follow it pretty quickly. Hope it's not too below par - there's a nice little bit of sibling bonding in it, I'm counting on that helping to sweeten the deal. I promise it will get better, don't lose the faith! (Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.)**

The little household was unusually quiet in the week that followed. Edmund and Lucy trudged off to school day after day, with heavy hearts and heavy heels, while Peter spent long, quiet days at home with Susan.

They didn't talk much, and barely ate; Peter had never prepared anything that couldn't be cooked over an open fire, and besides, neither of them had much of an appetite. Peter was too tired and keyed up to even think about eating and it seemed Susan couldn't keep anything down. It was some comfort that they were at least making the rations go that bit further, and that there would be more for the younger ones; but even the sandwiches that Lucy made up when she got home from school often ended up feeding the birds.

When three of Susan's girlfriends came to the door to ask after her, Peter stood in the doorway and explained that his sister had come down with a fever and they didn't know when she would be able to receive visitors. He had looked so very grave and serious that even Freda didn't feel much like playing a round of the popular favourite: "Make Su's Brother Blush." In the end, they had simply smiled their concern, wished Susan a speedy recovery and departed.

Then, one wet Wednesday evening, a young gentleman rang the doorbell and was treated to a very peculiar tableau. It seemed to Clive, (for that was the young gentleman's name,) that Susan's entire family had answered the door. Truly, he thought, it had been quite enough to make a lesser chap turn tail and run.

"Is Su about?" he had asked, proffering a bunch of peonies and running his hand nervously over a head of hair, quite slick with pomade. "Mags told me she was ill, I thought I'd pop by and try to cheer her up."

For several long and awkward moments there was no reply. Su's elder brother, the blonde one, who was looming rather large in the doorway, glowered at the visitor with an expression that made Clive feel somehow _ashamed_ of himself. In fact, he didn't mind admitting that he almost ran for the hills when the hallway light flicked on and he spied another brother lurking in the hallway. A younger sister, barely visible, sat on the stairs behind, but of Susan herself there was no sign.

Some secret communication appeared to go on between brother number one and brother number two; the elder inclined his head and raised his eyebrows at the other who stared hard at Clive for a few seconds, then shook his head and looked at the floor. Number one, looking a _tiny bit _friendlier now, turned back and said:

"She's not able to see anyone yet, but I'll see she gets those."

Then, taking the flowers from Clive's befuddled grasp, he shut the door in his face. Really, it had been very strange, and _terribly_ bad form. But then, everyone knew that the Pevensies were a little _peculiar._

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Edmund had never cared a bean about his own peculiar reputation, but it appeared that even he wasn't completely oblivious to public opinion, when he came home one afternoon nursing a bruised and lacerated palm.

"What happened, Ed?" Peter questioned his brother in a hushed but heated whisper. He had walked into the kitchen to find Lucy wrapping the injured hand in her handkerchief and bathing it with tears. When Edmund did not reply, she eyed him with wary concern and sniffed:

"He got into a fight. I think someone said something… I don't know what, he won't say… but Mr Walden beat him for it."

Peter clenched his jaw, and placed a heavy hand on Edmund's shoulder, but Edmund jerked away, hissing:

"'Someone said something!' They were all saying it! The stupid bastards… Bastards!" And Edmund kicked the kitchen cabinet, making the pans within rattle.

"Stop it! Keep your voice down!" Peter grimaced, nodding towards the living room where Susan was resting. "What? Who? Who was saying what?"

"They were all making out that Susan's some kind of slut! I couldn't let them talk that way…"

His face was black with fury. Peter too was so angry he could barely speak. Lucy was reminded as she looked from face to face, exactly what her brothers were capable of when their family was threatened. It frightened her, but in a way it made her feel strong, and safe. Peter was breathing heavily, but something more pressing than his rage forced itself to the front of his mind and out of his lips.

"What _exactly_ was said? What do people know?"

Edmund drew a deep breath, and then all of a sudden, it seemed the wind had gone out of him. He slumped a little and hung his head.

"It was just… Oh I don't know! Some fellows were making cracks about her, how she's pretty and all that, and how they'd like to… you know. And then one chap said something like she's a really 'friendly' sort, implying that she's easy or something and… I just saw red. I shouldn't have hit him, but I couldn't help it."

"Oh Ed," Peter made a half hearted attempt to scold his brother, but instead found himself embracing him tightly. Lucy put her arms about them and they stood together for a few moments before Edmund disentangled himself.

"I suppose it's nothing they haven't said before. We all make jokes about each other's mothers, sisters, anyone really - but it's different now, after…" and Edmund groaned and put his head in his hands. "I've made a bit of a hash of things, haven't I? Please, don't tell Su, please…"

"Of course not," Peter agreed, shaking his head fervently, and trembling a little with a mix of anger and relief. It could have been a whole lot worse than it was, and Peter was thankful at least for that.

"Edmund?" Lucy looked up at her brother with a tearful smile, and squeezed his uninjured hand in hers.

"I love you," she said.

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Doctor Steadman was as good as his word. He came back to check on Susan a week after his first visit, and then again a week later when he took out the stitches and declared his patient to be well on the mend. Still, there was something in the Doctor's usually cheery, comforting manner that seemed strained on that third visit, even if it was only Lucy who saw it.

Mr and Mrs Pevensie returned home in high spirits at the end of the month, full of tales of their trip and with cases overflowing with goodies of all kinds. Susan met them at the door: a gay smile on her face and a good dinner cooking on the stove.

"Susan, darling!" her mother cried as she embraced her tightly on the doorstep, "Ooh, I've missed you! Has anything exciting happened while we're been away? Peter couldn't seem to tell us anything interesting on the drive back from the station. I'm counting on you to fill me in with all the gossip!"

"No mum," and if Susan's voice cracked from lack of use, her mother didn't notice it. "Really… Everything's just the same, nothing's changed at all."

"Oh, you do make it sound dull! Still, I suppose it's better than bombs or bruises. Well come on then, let's go inside and have tea. I can give you all your presents."

When Peter and his father had brought the last bit of luggage in from the car, the family sat down together in the living room. Mrs Pevensie was so excited to see her children again, she could hardly stop talking.

"Here you go Peter, I hope you like it," she said, passing him a large, book-shaped package, "It's about all the beautiful horses they have out in America, they're quite different from ours you know, wilder somehow. You would have loved them, darling."

Turning her head, Mrs Pevensie continued: "Lucy, this one's for you… ah, you know what it is don't you? But you know we won't be able to get you any more sweets for a long time, so try to make them last, there's a good girl.

"I would have brought you some sweets too, Edmund, but you're not so keen on them as you were, are you? So I got you a new set of drawing pencils instead, I hope you like them, sweetheart."

Mrs Pevensie reached into her bag one last time and removed a small package with a smile and a flourish.

"And last but not least, Susan… oh, I don't know why I'm pretending this is a surprise, you pestered me enough to get them for you! Here you go, darling - enjoy!"

Susan smiled her thanks. Fumbling a little with the string, she unwrapped the parcel and gazed down at the contents which fell into her lap: A black kohl pencil, and a pair of real, silk stockings.


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry for taking so long to update people… I've been a bit of an insomniac these past few days and I haven't been able to think straight, let alone type! Welcome to the last chapter… the story will continue, but as a new fic. Thanks to Francienyc for all her help! I don't own, so please don't sue me.**

**This takes place about a month after the Pevensie parents arrive home. **

It was seven 'o'clock in the evening and Peter sat in his father's chair, waiting, and watching the newly laid fire as it cracked and fizzled into life. The clock ticked softly on the mantel. From the kitchen, he could hear the rattling of crockery and the splash of water as his mother washed the dinner plates. His stomach rumbled.

The evening meal had been a rather meagre affair; rations were getting steadily tighter as the war dragged on. A family of six people was a challenge to satisfy at the best of times, especially when one of those people was Edmund, but they had always managed.

Peter often found he could go without food, especially when he was under pressure, or when one of the others was extra hungry. Lucy had never been a big eater - she was always in a hurry to finish her meal and get back to whatever it was she had been doing when her mother had interrupted her; and Susan was perpetually 'watching her figure', so there had always been enough to go around. Just recently, though, things had been a little different.

"Do you want the rest of my potatoes, Su?" Edmund had asked that evening as the family sat round the table.

"Aren't you hungry again, dear?" Mrs Pevensie had asked, her brow furrowing a little with concern. Ed had been off his food this past week, and it really wasn't like him.

"You're not coming down with Susan's tummy bug are you? Oh, I don't know; who'd have four children? We've just got one of you well and another starts going down with something!"

"I'm alright mum, just full," Edmund smiled at his mother, and scraped his leftovers onto Susan's plate. She nodded her thanks and continued with her meal.

"Well, it's good to see _you_ eating again, Princess, even if your brother's on a diet," Mr Pevensie joked, patting his eldest daughter's hand. He stood up and headed to the living room for his customary twenty minutes with the evening paper and his pipe.

"Watching your waistline, son?" he laughed, ruffling Edmund's hair as he passed and Lucy giggled.

Despite the jokes, Peter had to agree with his father; it _was_ good that Su was eating again. She hadn't been able to keep anything down for weeks and had become awfully pale. They had all been worried, even her parents. But now it seemed she was on the mend. Certainly, her appetite was back in full force, better than it had been in years. She smiled up at her father's receding back, and carried on eating.

"How are you feeling now, darling? You certainly look a lot better," Mrs Pevensie observed, as she collected the empty plates together.

"I feel fine, mum," Susan said, dabbing her lips with her napkin, "Lots better. In fact, I think I'm going to be alright to go tonight after all."

"Oh, that's good! I saw Margaret in town today, at the Post Office, and she asked after you, but I said I wasn't sure if you'd be well enough," Mrs Pevensie stood up and followed her husband out of the room.

"Where are you going, then?" Edmund asked, looking a little nonplussed.

"Kathleen's having a party, Peter and I have been invited," Susan said, swallowing her last mouthful and passing her plate to Lucy, who was waiting, hands outstretched, to take the remaining dinner things into her mother. It was her turn to help with the clearing up, and she liked to get it over quickly so she could get on with more interesting things.

"Are you definitely sure you're alright to go out?" Peter whispered, nudging his sister; but Susan only gave him a puzzled look, took a little sip of water, and laughed:

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?"

"Don't play dumb, Susan, you know why!" Edmund hissed, scowling at her.

Peter looked sharply at his brother and gave him a little kick under the table. His eyes flicked to Susan, who was glaring at Edmund, her face suddenly flushed and her eyes hard.

"Edmund, I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," she gritted, but her hand shook a little as she returned the glass to the table.

"Stop pretending that nothing's happened…" Edmund began angrily, and his voice crept up a notch; but Susan interrupted him:

"Be quiet, you idiot!" Glancing anxiously at the door, she pushed her chair noisily back and stood up, her fists clenched.

"Susan, for God's sake, stop it!" Edmund was standing too now, jaw set, facing his sister squarely across the table.

"Come on, you two…" Peter began, rising and putting a warning arm out across Edmund's chest. He reached for Susan's arm, but she shook him off as if he were a fly, and glowering at Edmund, she spoke in a tight little voice:

"I'm not prepared to listen to you if you're going to talk drivel. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a party to get ready for." And with that, she left the room.

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Now, as he sat staring into the flames, Peter reflected on the incident at the dinner table, and the whole impossible situation.

Since her parents' return, Susan had been immeasurably better in one way, and strangely worse in another. For weeks beforehand, she had barely left her room; she had lain in bed, not eating, barely speaking, with a blank expression on her face. The only time she had been at all animated was during Doctor Steadman's weekly visits, but after each one she would shut herself away in her room, seemingly exhausted. After the fourth visit, she had told the Doctor that she was quite well, and that he needn't trouble himself to come anymore.

Then, the day before Mr and Mrs Pevensie had been due back from America, Peter had woken up at seven 'o' clock and come downstairs to find Susan, dressed in an apron and scrubbing the kitchen floor, seemingly quite her old self, and apart from her coming down with that nasty tummy bug, she had remained that way ever since. It was really quite astonishing.

Then there was Edmund; it was disquieting just how erratically he had been behaving. Most of the time he was his usual kind, reserved self, then suddenly his temper would flare up out of the blue. Peter supposed it was only natural, considering the circumstances, but that didn't make it any the less upsetting, especially since most of Edmund's outbursts were aimed at Susan.

Up until now, Edmund had always gotten along pretty well with his elder sister; they were cut from a similar cloth, just as Lucy and Peter were. But since Susan had 'fallen ill' (as they had all taken to calling it,) Edmund had been acting very strangely towards her; one minute tender and affectionate, the next irritable and snappish.

Lucy said that it reminded her of how he had been all that time ago, before the wardrobe.

"But back then, it was mostly me and you he was angry at," Peter had pointed out, and Lucy had agreed; but she could never stay downhearted for long.

"Don't worry. It will get better, I know it will," she had said, and Peter had thanked the Lion for his little sister; he could always rely on her for comfort and hope. Perhaps she was right.

The clock struck half past seven, and Peter looked out into the hall to see Susan coming down the stairs. He stood up and went out to meet her.

"Hey... Are you ready to go?" he asked. She nodded:

"Almost, won't be a minute."

Peter stood his back against the wall, as Susan put her lipstick on in the oval shaped hall mirror. Her skin had regained its lustre, her hair was as dark and glossy as ever; her eyes fairly shone. You would never know… unless you knew her.

"Alright," she smiled at Peter in the mirror and nodded again, "Ready."

She turned to shout up the stairs to her mother that they were leaving, and all of a sudden, Edmund was there. For a moment, nobody spoke and the atmosphere was brittle, like icy cold air. The three siblings stood as if turned to stone. Then Edmund gave a shy little smile, and raised his hand.

"Did you want me to do your lines for you?" he asked bashfully, holding up a pen. Susan stared at him for a moment, then her face melted and she laughed, a wonderful sound, like gurgling water after a sudden thaw.

"Oh, Ed!" she giggled, "I've got real ones now remember? But keep that pen handy, my stockings never survive more than one night!"

Susan's grin faded a little; she reached out to grip Edmund's shoulder, and some silent communication passed between the two, which Peter knew to be:

"I'm sorry, I love you,"

Then, all of a sudden Lucy was bouncing down the stairs and laughing: "About time!" which made Peter look at his watch, and motion for Susan to hurry up. They were going to be late.

Edmund took Susan's coat down from the hook and helped her into it, Lucy passed Peter his keys and the two eldest Pevensies were ready for their night out. Edmund and Lucy sat down together on the stairs and watched as Peter called upstairs, in _his_ best Scarlett O'Hara voice (which was admittedly not very good):

"Bye kids, don't wait up!"

And then they were gone, leaving nothing behind them but the scent of Susan's cheap perfume.

**The End… or is it?**

**If you want more, clap your hands say yeah!**


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